


oh, your cold dead heart

by charlesworthy



Category: Fire Emblem: The Sacred Stones
Genre: Gen, Link in notes, Zombies, based on another fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-01 17:21:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10926477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlesworthy/pseuds/charlesworthy
Summary: Ephraim died.  Eirika took his place.  She thought she was over it, but she also thought that Lyon was still her friend...





	oh, your cold dead heart

**Author's Note:**

> this [fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/978423) hasn't been updated in forever and it burns me.
> 
> i took one angsty idea and threw in this one too because it's all GOOD

“Ephraim, you know you're of no use to me if you don't dress.”

The name had stricken Eirika with a flurry of feelings all at once that she was completely unprepared for. To hear it used outside of reference to herself had become an oddity in recent months – the armor she donned belonged to the Renaisian Prince, not the Princess. She was no longer Eirika, she was Ephraim, and she had died when her brother's corpse was buried.

But the voice carrying the name struck her harder. She flinched.

As she had adopted Ephraim's name, his armor, his weapon, she had adopted his confident stride, his commanding, yet open tone. She'd cut her hair short in a mockery of his style. She spoke deeply to mimic his voice. Her slender frame had become accustomed, with practice, of occupying more space than it required, to take hold of things it was not built to carry.

She suddenly felt very, very small, in a way she hadn't since she was held by Seth's hand, so close to him, fleeing the home she knew was to become the site of her father's death.

“Yes, I like you both ways, you know. In or out of your armor, I haven't yet decided which of you is more handsome.”

The voice carried a gentle mirth to it that she hadn't heard in years. Even through the thick doors hiding it, it was one Eirika could recognize instantly.

“Lyon.” Her own voice croaked out the name. Her knuckles were white around Reginleif, but thankfully Ephraim's thick gloves hid that well.

She'd told Kyle and Forde to hang back, she had to charge forward. It was Ephraim's way. It was becoming hers, too.

“We do have visitors, Ephraim. I fear it may hurt you, but I need you to kill them, okay? You'll do that right? For me?”

“Lyon.” A second voice. It sounded hollow, but Eirika knew that one as well. She knew it too well. Her hand suddenly covered her mouth, a girlish gesture she hadn't yet shaken because she hadn't the need to. Alone, she didn't feel the need to pull it away.

“Thank you, Ephraim. You've made me very happy. You've given me everything I've ever wanted that I could not take for myself... I cannot describe how happy I am to have you.”

Eirika steeled herself. Her hand withdrew itself from her face, clenching into a fist at her side, tight as the one holding her lance.

“Your fingers still don't cooperate, do they? That will come in time, Ephraim, you need a little practice is all.”

She opened the door with an explosion matching the turbulence in her heart. Were she asked, she'd not be able to name the emotion swirling inside her. She didn't have a name for the one that came afterwards, either, as her shoulders drooped and her eyebrows shot upwards.

Before her were two men she'd not seen in a long time. Only one of them had she ever imagined seeing again. The other...

Lyon, beautiful Lyon with his soft hair brushing along his robes that looked far too big for him (he was always that way, too small for his outfit or station), and his long, delicate fingers fiddling with the buttons of a Gradoan military shirt currently hanging around the waist of her deceased sibling.

Ephraim stared blankly at her, pale lips parted in a way that she could not decide was stupid or in surprise. Dark veins traced from his jaw downwards. Her eyes followed them to the curve of his collarbone, jutting out in a way that perhaps it should not have, and downwards. Under flaking skin, she could see what she thought might be the taut muscle of his breast, but it was impossible to tell in this light.

Lyon had turned his head to stare, first surprised, and then he offered a gentle smile. “I didn't expect you, yet, Eirika. Certainly not like this. You make a fine prince, I must say you fooled even me for a moment.”

He knew the games they had played as a child. Gradoan cooks had been just as frustrated as those in Renais.

“What is this?” Eirika's voice had a harsh edge she'd gained from pretending to be her brother. She had sharpened her curves into rough edges. She had done this to survive.

“Aren't you happy to see your brother?”

“Eirika....”

Lyon laughed, gently, like a bell. “Do not strain yourself, Ephraim, your voice will come in time. He is happy to see you. Can't you see?”

Eirika could see many things about him. His hair was rough and dry like straw. He carried bandages on his lower torso, only slightly hidden by the shirt Lyon had been helping him into. His flesh was nearly translucent, and she could see all sorts of things through such a pale covering. His eyes, though, twinkled with recognition, even if he could not move his mouth to speak well. The corners of his lips twitched, but his mouth did not cede a smile.

“The continent of Magvel,” Lyon began, returning to his work in dressing Ephraim. “Has crumbled. Hasn't it?”

Eirika had no words. She observed.

“The dead rise and walk again, skeletons and revenants and mauthe dougs... Spiders, taurus, gorgons... Horrors of all kind are reclaiming the soil we so long assumed safe...” He sighed, wistfully, helping Ephraim with the last button at the V of his neck. The Gradoan Prince's hands lingered there, sliding down Ephraim's covered chest as he turned to fiddle with something Eirika could not see.

“And yet, miracles can happen. And here he is. Our... miracle.”

Ephraim's eyes flickered to Lyon. It was the only part of him that moved. Lyon flashed him a smile, then set about placing a chest piece on his breast. He skirted Ephraim's side to secure its fastenings. It did not move with the breaths it should have.

“Lyon--”

“No, no, Eirika, can't you see? I had heard of your death, of course, and I... Wanted to end this silly war right then and there, as if that would bring you back.” He spoke with a cynicism Eirika had never heard from Lyon, but the smile remained pinned to his face. Typically, she found the gentle curve of his lips a comfort. Here it was a threat. “I scoured the realm for your body and yet... Look what I found. Not the Princess' corpse, but the Prince's.”

He patted Ephraim's shoulder lovingly, then set about fastening upon him a pauldron. “We were never good at hiding things from each other, were we? To my surprise the fell magics that are ravaging the countryside as we speak... Brought him back.

“He fares better than most, fortunately. He has his mind, though it's hard to tell. You can see it in his eyes, see how they sparkle?”

Eirika's stomach knotted.

“He was stiff as a board when I found him, but he is getting better. With my magic... I can facillitate him a bit better. I can help him walk, use his hands, speak. He's much better in my prescence. I fear his heart stops again if I leave.”

Ephraim had both pauldrons now, and Lyon moved to further dress him. Gloves, greaves, a cape, boots. Lyon helped Ephraim with all these things as he continued, not once losing his gentle smile and not once keeping the honey from his voice.

“And I can hear him... It's like a whisper, in the back of your mind. I think it's the magic... We're connected by darkness, whether it was intentional. As I said, he's very, very happy to see you. Perhaps a little confused, though.” He paused to chuckle again. “But you wear his clothes well enough. Your hair looks decent short. I'm sure few have noticed your little trick, am I correct?”

Eirika would not speak to him.

“I understand you're shocked but... Look at this blessing. You don't have to pretend any more, Eirika. Renais can have both her prince _and_ princess back. You can be _happy_ , we can _all_ be happy.”

“What kind of life is this?” The question came out harsh, harsher than she intended. Her free hand gestured to Ephraim, still, but perceptive.

“A poor one,” Lyon agreed. “But he will improve. He can. I can help him.”

“His flesh is rotted, Lyon, I saw his chest!”

“We can heal him.”

Lyon's smile fell and he drew away from Ephraim, moving to a corner of the room too dark to see clearly. He returned with a lance, carried incorrectly in both hands, obviously clumsy in his touch. He held it, standing on the floor, close enough to be in Ephraim's reach.

“What is this?” Eirika asked again, brows furrowing intensely.

“Surrender.” Lyon's voice, all at once, lost the optimistic sugar he'd coated it in. It was cold, vacant, unlike him in a way that uniquely failed to suit him in the slightest. “Give up, Eirika. I shall usher in a new era of peace for Grado. Ephraim shall remain at my side – he's told me as much. Whichever ends the war faster.”

“Let me hear that, Ephraim,” she replied sternly. “Ephraim, is this true?”

“Ei... Eirika...” His voice was so weak, but in the first burst of strength she'd seen from him, he grabbed the lance from Lyon's grasp, holding it powerfully in his confident hand. “R-r... R... Rrr...”

“Ephraim, please, don't strain yourself,” Lyon murmured, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “There's no hurry.

“You may lay down... Ah, that's Ephraim's lance, isn't it? His favorite, I recall... I remember him being so joyed to receive it. You may lay it down, and accept these terms. I'll leave you Renais, if that's what you wish. I'll conquer it, if you'd prefer not to rule, but judging from the play you've lead so far I figured you'd prefer to rule.

“You can join us, Eirika. You... Ephraim... And me... We can help bring the dawn to this continent.”

“Why did Grado even attack in the first place?” she demanded. “How am I meant to _join_ you when I can't even tell your intentions?”

“You were always such a clever girl, Eirika,” Lyon replied. “But I cannot explain until the end.”

In one jerky swing, Ephraim brought his lance to bear, tip pointed at Eirika. His eyebrows had curved in a look that could have been surprise or defiant cock-sureness. Eirika couldn't tell.

“I would prefer you at my side, of course,” Lyon said. “As Ephraim has decided...”

“I will not. I can't, Lyon. You must tell me why you're doing this if you have any intention of trying to convince me.”

Lyon paused for a moment. “....I see. Isn't embracing your brother offer enough?”

“Pardon?”

The prince's eyes were cold as he turned to Ephraim. Their eyes met, and Lyon started his exit. Eirika was about to reach for him, grab his arm, demand an explanation, but the next words out of his mouth stopped her dead in her tracks.

“Kill her, Ephraim. We'll get her one way or another.”


End file.
